The Not-So-Boring Case
by TheChristmasSerialMurders
Summary: Sherlock, John and a pompous talking cat. What could go wrong? (Except everything!)


THE NOT – SO – BORING CASE

_Chapter 1 __–__ The Appearance of the Cat_

Dr John Watson sighed and walked into the kitchen to make his cup of morning tea. Sherlock was blowing something up (or doing stuff equally as dangerous) in his bedroom. He had not been out of there for three days! John knew not to disturb him; just to let him get over it. Eventually Sherlock would work out his experiment and everything would be back to normal (that is, as normal as you can get around Sherlock Holmes) and maybe there would be a bit of peace and quiet. Then the doorbell rang.

"_Who on earth could that be at this time of the morning?"_ he thought to himself, checking his watch. It was 6:00 AM in the morning. That gave him two hours before he had to go to work at the surgery. He approached the door and opened it, carefully looking out. But no one was there. "Hello?" he asked hesitantly. _"_Down here, Sir!"he heard at his feet. There, sitting with its tail curled delicately around its paws was … a cat! Eyes as golden as a sunset looked up at him from a striped ginger face.

"Um did you just talk?" John asked.

"Yes dear Sir, I did." -It had an accent like a cat that had lived in Buckingham Palace, very posh."Well then, please come in." John responded in shock. He was very white and shaking like a leaf. He stepped out of the doorway and walked into the living room. The cat followed behind him.

"I would like to talk to your brilliant detective friend, if you do not mind." the cat asked.

"Um, yeah, sure."John responded feeling rather slow and clumsy of tongue beside the posh feline.

"I will wait here for your return."the cat said and jumped onto John's armchair. John shook his head, muttered something about cats, fur and shedding and walked to Sherlock's door (the lanky git was supposedly 'practising' the violin). Wincing at the racket and wishing that his flatmate would actually play rather than, er, strangle a dying cat, John tapped on the door. Then knocked. Then banged. (As he was getting louder and louder Sherlock's playing was getting louder and louder as well) Then eventually John decided his knuckles and Sherlock's door had had enough abuse and simply hollered"SHERLOCK!"through the door. The violin playing, mercifully, stopped. "Honestly John I heard you the first time. I just decided not to act on it." Calmly came the deep voice of the Great Detective floating through the door. "Oh for the love of -" John muttered under his breath pushing down visions of punching his flatmate with great difficulty .

"There's a special visitor here to see you Sherlock."the good doctor said through gritted teeth, clenching and unclenching his fists as therapy. "Let me guess."came the lazy reply. _"_Somebody from the Royal Family?"A moment of silence before John heard a gasp that let him know Sherlock had sat bolt upright in horror. "Oh God, **don't **tell me it's Mycroft again!" _"_Erm … no."John said, wondering just how he was going to explain their actual guest to the detective. "Someone WAY different from Mycroft. Though he does talk like he's the Queens second - in - command!"

"Oh?" Sherlock said, and John could hear the curiosity in his voice. Then the door opened and Sherlocks curly, black-haired head poked out."Take me to him then."he said, still rather lazily, as if trying to hide that he was indeed curious._ " _Though this had better be more than a seven."

"Oh believe me, Sherlock, it is!"

They reached the living room and Sherlock looked around.

"So where is he then?" He asked rather testily. Sherlock Holmes did not appreciate being dragged out of solitude for a wild goose chase (neither did he appreciate being pranked). "Right where Doctor Watson left me Mr. Holmes."came the voice of the orange cat. John saw that the cat was in his armchair in exactly the same position he was in when John left. Sherlock started and looked to the area at John's chair. His eyes focused above the chair and then lower and then even lower. Then his eyes were on the pompous ginger cat. If a talking cat surprised him, he didn't show it. "Tuna for breakfast, Mr. Cat?"He asked.

"Yes and no." the cat replied. "Yes I had tuna for breakfast, but the name is Mr. Marmalade rather than Mr. Cat." John was no consulting detective but he could have sworn that there was some polished disdain in the feline's voice at those last two words.

"Well then Mr. Marmalade."Sherlock said, taking no notice as usual. "How can I be of assistance?"


End file.
